My name is Hugo Weasley and I am 26 years old. I live in a rather posh apartment in East London. From my balcony I've got a fancy view over London's fast growing skyline. I am a stock broker, which might surprise you, but you know, the calculability of the markets is just an advanced practise of Arithmancy.
I am actually a wizard, though I've never returned to Hogwarts after I'd finished the fifth year. Though 'finished' might not be the right term. I've intentionally failed all relevant O.W.L.'s – intentionally, meaning that I had never put any effort into my school career to begin with. Already during my early years, I failed to understand the strained segregation between the Wizarding World and that of the Muggles. I mean, have you been to Hogwarts? Have you ever considered that students are literally held prisoners in there? While everyone else back then (mind you, that was 2021ish or something) was able to communicate electronically via smartphones and computers with their family and friends, wizards and witches were still required to send owls. Owls! Neither would we have access to media that would allow us to know whatever was going on on this huge planet. The Daily Prophet as your daily source of information. Really? Think about it, you'll have students read a tabloid, exclusively British of course, you force them to send owls in order to stay in touch with their loved ones. Don't you think that's odd? Also think about the separation within the school. Houses of different sorts. Granted, keeping Hufflepuffs separate is a good idea, but for the rest – c'mon. It doesn't make any sense and causes unnecessary animosities amongst the also are not informed about the location of the school – yes, I know it's in ever so great but not independent Scotland, but where?! Students were, and probably still are, literally trapped in Hogwarts. And once the bloody train's delivered its cargo, there's just no escape. And trust me, I've tried. I've taken the risk of flying up as high as possible with my broomstick (even though I always sucked at operating those bloody sticks) in order to at least get a clue where the school could be located. Guess what I saw. Mountains and clouds. Oh and bringing a phone to this godforsaken place would also have been rather pointless. No masts, no GPS, nothing. Fuck's sake. Then what of the train, you may wonder. Yeah, I'd been wondering about that too. I'd followed the tracks one day only to realise that they disappeared into nothingness in order to prevent us students from following along. So does it really surprise that I hated it there? Being stuck in a bubble of madness and isolation, occasionally humoured by jumping chocolate frogs?
Maybe I did the Wizarding World injustice by reasoning that Hogwarts was the only representative place of it but back then all I wanted was to get out of there and take part in the better and more advanced world which belonged to the Muggles. So the plan had been to not return to Hogwarts after the Christmas break and I swear, I was determined enough to do it. But then I met Scorpius Malfoy. I knew him before but only from hearsay given that he had a bit of a reputation. He was an incredibly difficult and moody student, known for his fits, his tantrums and emotional extremes. Even though I had never much been concerned with him, I'd always had had the slight suspicion that he must have been plagued by some sort of mental disorder. I properly got to know him after I had prevented James Potter, yes that James Potter, from knocking his lights out. Really, I had had no other option but to intervene. If you know James, then you get it (though I hope you actually don't). Scorpius had been in his seventh and final year at that time and was tremendously concerned about the upcoming N.E.W.T.s and simultaneously desperately worried about what to do with his life after Hogwarts. Nothing, it seemed, appeared to be the right way for him. Any attempt to converse with him about it always ended in the same empty phrase "You'll be fine". What else was I meant to say after all? He appeared to be under enormous parental pressure and often told me how much his parents, though his father in particular, were expecting of him. "I hate him" was a common phrase of his. I'd heard of his father, Draco Malfoy, of course. My dad, who was at that time not yet in the position of Head of the Auror Department, complained a lot about him and even my mother seemed to hold a deep rooted grudge against him. At that time I took the collective aversion against Mr Malfoy for granted and wasted not much thought on the possibility that he wasn't as despicable after all.
I have to admit that I was initially really annoyed by my feelings for Scorpius because they really did not fit into my plan to leave Hogwarts at an early stage during the term. The idea not to return after the Christmas holidays seemed suddenly very out of place and foolish because it also meant that I'd not get to see Scorpius as often as I intended. Well fuck. You see, that's where I should have just not bothered, where I should have ignored my feelings and just followed through with my plan. But you know, it's apparently not so easy when you're in love. You wake up in the morning and your first thought is the person you'd like to be with, hell, you probably dreamt of them the night before. But there was a connection that I'd never felt before. Scorpius was simply amazing. He was crazy, alright, but he was brilliant at it. And he was wild. Loud. Unstable. Unpredictable. He felt like a drug to me with all the emotional excessiveness and extravagance. I felt constantly high in his presence, no matter his mood. It felt magical. Unfortunately, he was also very susceptible to my rants about the many inconsistencies and contradictions in the Wizarding World. I first liked the idea of having found someone who'd share my thoughts and opinions but I quickly realised that he was just mirroring me, probably unaware of it, in an attempt to synchronise with me. In this, consequently, originated the idea of his to join me after Hogwarts in order to take a "little time off" from the Wizarding World and the responsibilities at home that were awaiting him. I admit that I was foolishly excited by the idea and should have probably declined his proposal. But it was too tempting. The thought to go wild with him in the Muggle World was getting me all ecstatic though I should have probably listened to the alarm bells shrilling in the back of head.
But that's how it went, and we had both agreed that we'd tell our parents that we were just going outside for a while, obviously withholding our plans to never return. I had a friend at that time, Finch, who provided us temporary accommodation. How I met Finch, however, is a very odd and dull story, and I've decided that I won't be the one to tell it. Maybe Finch will someday tell our story. It will certainly entertain.
Anyway, from there on, things really just went downhill. We ended up consuming mad amounts of drugs and alcohol, had chicken nuggets for breakfast, ten Bounty bars each for dinner. We even got arrested once (or maybe more often and I simply don't remember) because we broke into a zoo, intending to feed blue and pink pills to the monkeys. We stole from supermarkets and drug stores, and we had excessive sex, sometimes even with strangers because they'd pay handsomely. It wasn't all fun of course. As I've previously indicated, Scorpius was disordered and his mind, it appeared, functioned in irregular intervals, hopping from highs into lows and it was really hard for me to keep up with his pace. Well, and then, on the 23rd of March 2026 he committed suicide. I'd left the flat to grab cigarettes and a couple of other necessities. Until then, I'd believed that I would always notice, that I would recognise the change in mood, the tiny signs and indicators that would give his intention away. I was convinced I'd always be there to prevent him from doing it. But that morning I'd noticed fuck all. I'd given him a kiss, I'd told him that when I'd get back I would be looking into our plans to move to slightly bigger shithole than the one we were living in at that time. And so I'd left, not looking back because I was expecting to find him snuggled up in the sheets, waiting for me to return with the much needed nicotine supplies.
I've found him in the sheets after all, but dead.
He'd cut his wrists and hung himself, and was not too long after found by one of our flatmates who had also managed to get him down, probably hoping that there might be a glimpse of life left in his body. But it had been too late. By the time I'd arrived, he was dead, ambulance and police already on their way.
After Scorpius' death I'd ran off to Birmingham, not so much by choice but because the first train I'd taken to get as quickly out of London as possible happened to be one to Brum. And that's where I ended up staying for a couple of years, and before you know where you are, you find yourself sat in a library, madly working on your master's thesis, drugged to the eyeballs in order to maintain clear thought and the ability to remain among the awake for at least four days. Seems like a very odd act of providence after all what happened before, don't you think? You may also wonder how I even managed to get accepted into university to begin with. Well, I guess Finch was quite a useful friend after all.
Life as a stock broker was fun. I returned from Birmingham to London, got my first job in which I was able to make good deals but the commissions almost always sucked. After all, speed and cocaine wouldn't pay for themselves and the expensive apartment at the river banks also had to be paid in monthly rents. So I quickly decided to take my chances and became my own employer. From there on I worked independently, and since commissions wouldn't have to be split anymore. With all the money came also more alcohol, more drugs, more parties. And thank fuck, there was Tinder. I had, it appears, properly moved on because I exceeded in pretending.
And then I met his father. Scorpius had never failed to emphasise how much he hated his father. He once told me that when his grandfather, Lucius Malfoy, had died he had wished it had been Draco instead. Yikes. But you see, from the stories Scorpius told me, Draco never seemed to be that bad of a parent. But I figured that Scorpius must have had some point at least and discarded the possibility that his father wasn't so much of a terrible person.
I don't remember much about our first encounter. But apparently I'd been drunk and he'd brought me home and made sure that I wouldn't choke in case I vomited. Why he did that I never understood. But from there on we kept on meeting regularly, and I am still wondering why. But I suppose I felt drawn to him. You'd maybe be inclined to assume it had something to do with Scorpius. That I was maybe recognising my lost love in Draco. But that wasn't the case. Draco was everything Scorpius had never been. He was calm, contained and serious. He understood the complexity of life without getting lost in the maddening circle of repetition. Or so it seemed. It was obvious that he was troubled but he managed to maintain the façade of the well respected defence attorney he was. Whenever he visited me, we rarely spoke. We seldom engaged in conversation and I enjoyed his silent presence and found comfort in it. It soothed the pain that I had been trying to ignore for so many years. The sex was rough and impersonal but the touches and kisses afterwards weren't. Whenever he was with me, my body and mind felt in synch. It was surreal to feel that way but it was so clearly there. I really hope that he felt as good around me as I felt around him. I never asked him though. I never really asked him anything and I deeply regret that. The war had left an invisible scar on his face that made it almost painful to look at him. But I never asked. I also ignored the mark on his arm although it kept moving ever so slowly, like algae in the sea. I can only imagine the pains he had to go through in his life, and I feel deeply ashamed that I never gave him the feeling to be remotely interested. But eventually, the more I got involved with him, the more difficult it became to keep that one secret from him. I didn't want to break our precious silence, but at the same time, it was also obvious that the loss of his son was tormenting his mind. The truth was bound to come out sooner or later. I had no other choice but to tell him.
I told him one evening after we had sex. I figured the right moment would never come anyway. I had expected a ravaging storm but he had only given one slight nod and taken another drag of the cigarette he'd lit the moment before. And then there had been more silence.
Can you think of worse betrayal? I can't.
I've betrayed them both. And what for? For I was selfish, because I moved on, because, really, all I ever wanted after Scorpius' was to pretend that none of this had ever happened. But you know, it makes sense because, at the end of the day, it's all about drugs. Scorpius was my daily dose of cocaine and his father, eventually, the golden shot of heroine. I look back at the past twelve years or so and really,it's just more than a decade of regret. I hate all of this. And therefore I am going to end it.